Le Lion Noir
by Scilera
Summary: The black lion is, from ancient times, a symbol of treachery and cowardice, the king of beasts afraid to bear his natural colors with his expected pride. But in some cultures, old and forgotten by all but a few linked by Time itself, that same creature is
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey all, it's me again. Posting this here as well, since I just _know_ you've all missed me... /sarcasm Anyway, this is how I plan to occupy my time until my muse allows me to pick up LC again. It's a bit on the strange side though, so you can't say you weren't warned!**

I don't know why he does it.

That filthy little half-blooded squatter who has tainted the house of my ancestors for more time than I care to recall… It is true that _most_ portraits lose their ability to track time, but not I. It is simply that I no longer care to. With nothing to look forward to, the act is merely depressing. But that is quite beside the point. Which was…

Ah, yes. _Him_. Scraggly hair and scrawny limbs, overlarge glasses sliding down his nose; he looks the worst sort of ragamuffin. I don't know how many nights he has come down to sit curled against the wall, just staring at me with his wide, empty eyes—perhaps he has a streak of the masochistic in him, which would explain some of his…_friends_—but I do know that this isn't the first night. Nor will it be the last, if I'm any judge of character—which I am, of the highest caliber.

I can only assume he's been coming here a long while, for I've hurled at him every insult and barb that I have at my command. With as many years as I've hidden beneath my skin, that arsenal is quite impressive, if I do say so myself. Which I do. Now there is nothing left to do but stare. Stare as I have the past few times he's come to darken the only space of house left to me. It used to be I could escape, roam the house through the other portraits and leave behind that space…but the fool Dumbledore has managed to trap me here. It gives him joy, I think, to feel he has conquered me, but he'll never truly do so. Perhaps it was…uncouth to disrupt their meeting as I did, but with those filthy muggle-loving intruders tromping about _my_ ancestral home at all hours, I became—shall we say—a little desperate. Any woman of breeding would do the same for the house she loves.

He must have put up a silencing spell, for I cannot hear the rest of them and no one ever rushed in to quiet me when I would scream at him for hours upon hours. He's not healthy, this boy. No one should _willingly_ seek out such vitriol as I have at my disposal. Even now, as I stare at him with what I am proud to say is a scorn to make that traitor Snape seem as cuddly as a newborn crup, he simply smiles at me in that infuriatingly endearing way of his.

After a while, he starts to talk, quietly. So quietly, in fact, that I almost cannot hear him. He tells me—or himself, I'm not quite certain—about his life. From the earliest memories until the latest tragedies and I cannot help it. He is so similar and yet so different. Raised with all the harshness and chill of an aristocratic upbringing without the luxury of wealth and prestige to soothe that ache, he knows the suffering of _our_ kind, but none of the consolation—chill and empty though it may be. I…I _empathize_ with him.

Damn it. The brat is… No, I refuse to think such things, even to myself. And yet… When dawn's first fingers stretch to claim the sky, eeking light through windows so dusty it seems more twilight than sunrise, he stands, offering me a warm smile sunnier even than the morning outside. And when he departs with just the lightest of farewells—his light French accent pleasant to listen to, even if it's just on the one word—I tell myself it's for my own amusement that I send the boggarts to plague the batty auror's dreams instead of his. Though _how_ he knows to address me with the name even my own sons did not know… He is—and I grant him this with all due seriousness—a very strange child.

After all, what normal child would address a terrifying, vicious portrait of a withered old haunt as _Grandlupe_?


	2. I

**A/N: Beta'd by the impeccable Thecookiemomma. All remaining errors are solely mine.**

It is late. Very late. It is late and cold and far, far too lonely a night for the solitary boy to be perched out on the rooftop as he is. Despite the fact that this house is hidden, he never comes out to sit here during the day. During the day he works with those inside, or he naps, snatching bits of sleep here and there where there is sunlight to drive away his dreams. He… He gets that from his mother.

I remember her now, though I didn't a month ago. Well, to be more accurate, I should say I didn't remember _all_ of her. Ly'laae was my best and most trusted friend. We were the first. Supposed to be the first, though we found out later there were…others. Sv'yr and J'met. And… Well, we weren't the only ones.

­­­

Remus Lupin had always been…strange. To the majority of Hogwarts—and indeed, the world beyond—he was simply a quiet, studious soul who had a strange love of books and chocolate and seemed…frail; almost sickly. To his Headmaster, teachers and friends he was the brave little werewolf working hard for his education, his right to be a wizard, too. But to his family, his pack, he was all of that and so much more.

This is why, when one evening he came late into the house and strode right into one of Harry's silencing disillusionment charms, the portrait of Mrs. Black was not in the least surprised. In fact, she did something she'd not done in turns. She smiled. "_Lest'et al' Rusk'ayin."_ This made the werewolf smile and incline his head slowly to her before extending his hand towards the boy huddled against the wall.

"Come, Harry," he began quietly. "There is much to be done." The older wolf prides himself on the fact that there is very little left in the world to surprise him, but when the boy looked first to the portrait before nodding and taking his offered hand, he found himself surprised and more than a little pleased.

The two walked silently from the portrait to the door, which for once opened silently and without hesitation. It very much helps when the house's very spirit is with you, rather than against. Once outside, the werewolf wrapped his arms around the young one and they vanished from sight, seeming to melt into the darkness around them.

For Harry, it was…an adventure, the nice sort where no one is out to kill you and no one has to die to protect you or this mysterious Cause everyone talks about. One moment he had his feet planted firmly on the pavement outside Number 12 and the next, he's floating in a sea of emptiness, of nothing; anchored only by the strong arms wrapped around his person. It was so nice, being weightless, floating. He felt his eyes drooping closed and the heaviness of sleep stealing over his limbs and just as he was about to surrender to that blissful nothing, he felt his feet impact with ground.

It wasn't a _rough_ landing, as far as these things go—Remus was there to support him, after all—but it was enough of a jar to wake him fully, which is exactly what was intended. Blinking rapidly, the boy focused his myopic eyes as best he could, needing to wipe his glasses on the hem of his sleep shirt before their surroundings became clear. A small gasp signaled his realization.

He and Remus were standing in the middle of a Hall. It was easily the size of the Hall of Hogwarts—if not, in fact, _larger_—and made more intimidating by virtue of its design. Black marble made up the entire room, shot through with veins of grey to create a smoky, hazy illusion. Along all sides, lounging on cushions, pillows and the odd chaise were the strangest assortment of creatures he'd ever seen. Canines, lupines, and felines of nearly every feral description were spread about the hall, mixed in with others who seemed…stuck in between. The closest things Harry could compare them to were the 'furries' drawn in evocative positions on posters and mags Dudley kept in his room. These creatures, however, put those drawings to shame, cheap imitations they were. These were beautiful and deadly in measures beyond what the boy had ever imagined could be contained in one being. All of them were frozen into a tableau, as if Harry's arrival had interrupted their flow of Time to leave them poised in mid-action, all faces turned to him.

From the 'head' of the hall, a sharp gasp broke the spell of silence and again that melodic language that the portrait had used to address Remus fell upon Harry's ears. Only this time, he found he could understand its meaning.

"Rusk'ai, you've _found_ him…" The voice was irrefutably female, a rich, throaty alto that seemed to energize and soothe—a dichotomy completely lost on Harry, but not on his companion. Remus, upon hearing it address him, turned towards the source and offered a low bow. When he straightened, there was a bright, hopeful smile on his face.

"Yes, Aly'thae; I have." His voice was soft as always, but there was an extra strength to it that caught Harry's attention for an instant before the boy became once more absorbed in his surroundings. From the same direction as the first voice came another, this one male, but soft, light; a tenor to glide over the senses and lull them in for a fatal strike.

"Why do you hide from us, Rusk'ayin? You are among Chay'en, now." This question drew Harry's attention finally up to the head of the hall to rest on the two speakers. The female—Aly'thae—was a sleek lioness straight from the prides of Africa, distinguishable only by her eyes. Her mate, lying next to her, was a languid jaguar, large and deceptively sloth as he sipped lazily from a golden goblet. When the cup was pulled away, he licked a pinkish stain from his maw. Remus wasn't sure from this distance whether it is wine or blood. Harry couldn't tell which would be worse.

"Would you cloak yourself as one of the C'alu when first showing them to your cub, Melte'ayin?" Remus' voice was calm, mild, one brow raised in question and then amusement as the ao'ayin backed down. Aly'thae seemed most amused by this and chuckled softly to herself as she stood and jogged over towards the pair, shifting at the halfway mark to the half-form and then one that appeared fully human and kneeling down so she was more on Harry's height—the woman was obscenely tall.

"Little moon cub, can you understand what I say to you?" Harry seemed to consider this, tilting his head to one side and watching the woman most thoughtfully.

"I can." Such a simple answer, but it delighted the lady to no end. Her smile became radiant as the savannah sun and just as difficult to look at.

"We _have_ found you then… Blessed suns, cub…you're home." And at that, for reasons Harry neither knew nor could begin to decipher, tears rose to her eyes and she enveloped him in a warm embrace. Harry tolerated it—much longer than he'd usually allow himself to be touched—all the while a bemused sort of smile on his face. Finally, when he could feel a patch of fabric at his shoulder grow wet from her tears, she pulled away, not bothering to wipe her eyes as her gaze shifted to Remus. "Take him to den and let him rest, Rusk'ai. Tomorrow there is much to be done."

"Of course, Aly'thae." Remus bowed to her once, just an inclination of the neck really, and turned to usher his cub away, but a thought gave him pause. "You will tell him?" It came out more as a statement than a question, but the lioness nodded anyway.

"Immediately."

Beyond that one word, Harry knew no more, just another bout of blissful blackness before passing into a more natural sleep.

It isn't often that I dream of my entrance anymore. It seems as if that night was a lifetime ago, or several. Years upon years of training, of learning and of changing have dimmed and blurred the memory until it is clear only in dreams. Now I more comfortable in my fur than I ever was in my C'alu skin. Well enough for me that most of the old ones still move about in their furs. Helps with the blending in, at least as much as anything could ever help. Once again in my life I am unique. I am the one and the only. But, over time, I've come to terms with this particular specialty. Mostly through patience and the near constant reminder that it's only fur-deep.

Only fur-deep…

They say I'm ready now. Ready to go back and face the rest of the wizarding world. When Rusk'ai first sat me down to explain, I had to focus a moment, just to remember. It's as if that world had been a dream, another like my arrival, lost to my reality. He says that's normal. It's the nature of our two worlds; a safety, if one were to borrow a C'alu term for it. Helps to maintain the balance and ensure our mutual survival.

I wondered at first, once the memories returned. That in and of itself took several days, but when I had it all straight, I wondered if they'd missed me. I have, after all, been gone for… Well, I'm not entirely sure how long, but it's been years at least.

Again, that's normal. Apparently. He tells me time passes differently here than there. Depending on how we travel back, I could have been gone a blink or a lifetime.

"It's why we seem immortal to them, cub," he told me. "Because those times we visit…it could be their whole life has passed without us." And he looked so very, very sad then. "That's why it is dangerous to befriend those you will not share a stream with. Too much unnecessary heartbreak."

He seemed so sad, so empty with those words that I didn't have the heart to question him, even though it made so little sense. Very little in my life makes sense. I should be used to this by now.

They have me packing. Very little can be carried over through the change, but I've learned a trick or two of my own and I have treasures I refuse to part with. Here, now, in my C'alu skin, I can feel the memories more strongly, probably because the emotions attached to them are so overly complex. Too complex for my mindset when I wear my fur.

Ron. Hermione. Ginny. _Hogwarts_…

I can feel the excitement building in me. It roils and churns in my gut until I feel as if I'm hunting for the first time all over again. It is…stressful, to feel this much. I can only hope it dims and fades back when I wear my fur again. No wonder the C'alu die so young. Stuck in one stream and overcomplicating the lives they do have? Complete foolishness.

Melte'i worries about this 'arrogance' of mine. He fears it will give me away. Rusk'ai is convinced it will fade quite soon. I don't see what arrogance they mean, but that's probably the case in point or point in case. Whichever.

Ah, that's so much better. Thoughts streamline down to what really is and is not important. Thoughts and emotions that are overly complex fade back into the realm of unimportant. As I jog down the hallway towards the grounds and my departure point, I shake and feel the last claws of uncertainty release me.

It's a good feeling.

This will not be my first trip through the streams alone.

It _will_ be my first time crossing over, alone or otherwise.

I find the proper current easily enough. They flare to life brighter than neon road signs if one only knows how to read them. Now I just have to make sure I stay in just the piece of the current I want. Easier said then done. It's a lesson I learn too late as a particularly strong gust of pressure surges at me, forcing me to fight just to stay afloat.

I manage it.

Barely.

Lying on my side, panting heavily, I blink up at a ceiling I've not seen in a lifetime, fighting a growing sense of panic. This sense is only aggravated by the slam of a door downstairs being blasted off its hinges. I'm not where I should be. Or rather, I'm exactly where and not exactly i_when/i_ I should be and something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.


	3. II

**A/N: Beta'd by my loverly friend Thecookiemomma. Any and all remaining mistakes are completely mine. .**

This place _reeks_ of muggle. It quite truthfully offends my sensibilities. How any of them could stand to live here—or for that matter, even to _meet_ here—is truthfully beyond me. I wouldn't have my house elves living in a place like this. It's a disgrace.

More's the pity that we've missed them. It can't be more than a day they've been gone. By the look of things, they left in quite a hurry. It's almost pitiful to have wasted all this effort for a filthy, empty, rotting house. Cissa may have attachments to this hovel, but I certainly care nothing for it. If I had my way, we'd be out of here by now, but my Lord has instructed that we must be thorough and so thorough we shall be.

I can offend my sensibilities to avoid the _Cruciatus_ curse, at least for a little while.

The four with me are my own friends; comrades picked from the hooded masses because I can trust them not to fuck up when it counts.

What? That's high praise from a Malfoy.

This old, decaying house seems to sigh relief as the five Death Eaters cross her threshold, nevermind the fact that her front door has been thrown into the hall closet, she is saved from the mudbloods and blood traitors. The portrait, Mrs. Black in all her splendor, says nothing, merely nodding a chill approval as two of the men climb the stairs just past her. They return the courtesy, as any mannered man should.

In her life, it was a privilege indeed to earn such condescension from the Lady Black. Why should it be any different in her death?

Perhaps now she'll get some peace… Or, not.

All hope of that is shattered when an upstairs room is checked, only to end in a shout of alarm and a hurried yell.

"Lucius!" It's Crabbe's voice, dim and deep and frightened. The blond wizard springs into action, flying up the stairs towards the voice, wand out and ready. Finally, some action! His glee fades as he rounds into the room only to find the man has been scared by an overlarge cat. He is about to put the thing down for good when Typhon Zabini comes up behind him and lays a staying hand on his wand arm.

"Wait, just one moment, Lucius…" The Malfoy Lord nods once and lowers his wand, watching with chill grey eyes as his friend approaches the beast and carefully untangles it from the curtains it somehow managed to bind itself in. As he does so, it wakes, blinking several times before turning to eye Typhon before pulling itself out of the mess and stretching. Lucius' breath catches in his chest. This is no overlarge house cat… This is a sleek, black panther and by the looks of it as it—he, as it soon becomes apparent—moves carefully among the group, sniffing each before choosing to sit before Lucius, chin lifted proudly as his tail curls around his legs.

"How appropriate!" he exclaims with a chuckle, daring to reach out and rub the beast behind the ears—which is much appreciated—while his eyes gain a calculating gleam to them. "Gentlemen," he begins. "I believe we may have stumbled upon a choice bit of luck." One look at Typhon confirms his thoughts lie in a similar direction.

"How fortunate."

Such strange men these are. They smell of death, they taste of luxury and they know _just_ that place behind my ear that I can't quite reach. One of them seems…familiar to me. A small piece of my mind screams that he means trouble, danger and that I should attack and then run. But that is not my way and there's nothing in my gut, in my first, foremost and primal instincts that says I should fear these men at all.

They spoke to me civilly, each in their turn. Except for that fat one, he attempted some crude type of 'baby talk'. Thankfully one growl was enough to curb that habit quite quickly.

They seem enamored of me, surprised by my intelligence and it honestly makes me wonder why I bother with them at all. Such silly creatures, these C'alu. They do have rather nice modes of transportation though, these particular males. Very efficient. I approve. It isn't long before we arrive at a grand house that reminds me quite a bit of the northern gardens at home. It's what they call manor style I ithink/i. I wasn't paying very close attention during the lesson on C'alu culture and architecture. It all seemed so…silly at the time.

A young one tramples down the left staircase indoors to meet us, only to pause at the foot and collect himself. I approve, with all my instinct, but the hatred that comes from the C'alu part of my mind is overwhelming. It's unfounded and stupid, but when I growl low in my throat, the one with me only appears amused. He and the young smell alike. Father and cub, if I don't miss my guess.

"Father," the cub greets. I didn't miss my guess.

"Draco." My nose wrinkles back in confusion. I've not seen family greet each other so coldly since the last fight Mi'iat had with her—oh! That must be it. Quite simple, really. Family spats sort themselves out in the end. Or they don't. Either way, it's nothing for me to be bothered by, so I let them be in favor of exploring my surroundings.

Apparently I should have waited for an invitation.

"Father, where did you _find_ him?"

The looks they send my way really are priceless. I can't help but rumble my amusement.

"The raid this morning. Those fools left him tangled in a mess of one of the upstairs rooms. No food, no water." The tone of the man's—Lucius I think—voice surprises me. He doesn't seem the sort to be angry over trifles, but he is definitely irritated at the least.

"Fools," his son spits vehemently. "Their loss."

There's a moment of silence then and I can feel both pairs of eyes on me as I pad up the stairs, pausing to inspect a passing house elf. I'm nearly to the top landing when the cub speaks again, but this time, he's earned my full attention.

"What's to be done with him, Father? He looks quite valuable." Lucius grins rather wickedly. Definitely a predator. Good. I don't like prey unless it's on a dish or bleeding into my mouth.

"More than quite, Draco." Lucius turns to watch me watching him, a staring contest he seems only mildly surprised to lose. "I believe he may have some Shae in him." Draco's eyes widen in shock, his mouth falling open.

"But I thought they were only a myth!" he hisses to his father. I can almost _see_ the cogs turning in his head.

"All myths have their base in fact, Draco. They start from the smallest embellishments on a tale and grow with each retelling." He nods to himself, satisfied. "No, this one is too intelligent to be ijust/i a jungle cat. He will make a fine gift for our Lord."

A gift, am I? Interesting… I've never ibeen/i someone's gift before. Could be entertaining… Not what I'm technically here to do, but still…

A snort from down below catches my attention again. "And our Lord's…familiar won't kill him?" It's Draco's doubting. I can hear the slight lilt to his voice that is missing in his father's.

"Nagini? I don't claim to understand the mind of a serpent, Draco…" Lucius turns from his observation of me and leans his cane against the wall. "But that would be a fight to see."

A fight? A fight he believes I might not win? As I explore the upper halls of this manor house I realize that this definitely settles it. Who knows? This 'serpent' could become a valuable ally if she's as good a fighter as it would seem. And besides, I'm technically not breaking any rules…

They never said I _couldn't_ be someone's gift.

I _hate_ springtime. I hate it with the red hot intensity of a thousand suns. But what is even worse than _spring_ is failure. I will not stand for it!

Pacing back and forth across the floor of my study, I roll the problem over and over in my mind. Lucius has failed to bring me the deaths, the captives, the _information_ I asked for! Yet if the reports are to be believed, it wasn't entirely his failing. Someone must have tipped them off…

Yet another problem for me to deal with. Wonderful.

I find, when I surface from the rabbit-trail of thought that revelation led me to, that my left hand is curled around my wand handle and my posture is tense. The wards. Someone must have triggered the wards. Without the pull I exert on their Dark Marks, the only two powerful enough to pass them are Severus and Lucius. Snarling, I scatter a stack of parchment from my desk to the floor, eyeing it with satisfaction and secure in the knowledge that I don't have to straighten it. Let some miserable house elf handle the mess. It's what they live for.

Hallways in this house are so inverted and convoluted that it would take a lifetime to learn them all by heart. Thankfully, I've had a lifetime. Several, in fact, if a few things are taken into account…

The doors to my throne room are large and foreboding. Funny that I notice this now, they've been this way since before my first rise to power. I reach out one hand to force them apart, but something gives me pause. For a long time now I've been attuned to Fate, to Time and to Chance. It stole a part of my humanity from me, but it was more than a fair trade. It's helped me survive this long.

I can feel it now, that itch at the back of my head, right where skull meets spine. The itch and the burn that means change, most often big change. If I step through these doors now…

As horridly cliché as it sounds, my life _will_ be changed forever. Whether for good or for ill, I never know, but in this manner I am given a choice. I can choose to step back, to walk away from these doors and continue as I am, on the path I've been walking these past three years or I can choose to fling open these doors and embrace whatever new die I've been tossed.

As if there ever was a doubt.

In my grand style, the doors burst open, cushioned in their meeting the walls to either side so they don't close again before my command. Swiftly I move into the room, sweeping the room with my eyes and getting a little thrill as the two men in the room instantly drop to their knees. How odd that they should be so close to my seat. The smart ones usually stay back. Whipping my entire body around to face them, their motive suddenly becomes clear.

There, lounging in my throne as if it belonged to him, is a rather large black jungle cat. He meets my stare evenly, no challenge, nor fear in his gaze. For long, untold minutes we stare until I finally find the need to blink.

I've lost.

I _never_ lose. Not to _anyone_

Furious, I make to draw my wand, heedless of the small sounds of distress from the two men still kneeling. No beast may defeat me and live. But he does the strangest thing. He sees me draw my wand I'm sure, but instead of moving quickly as if he knows the threat, his motions are slow and languid. He stretches once, as any cat would, then lifts one shoulder in…a shrug and ambles down off the chair.

Yes, he _could_ challenge me, but he won't.

"Why?" For a moment I don't realize I've spoken aloud.

"A gift, Lord. We found him bound and locked in a room of their Headquarters. He was left behind, my Lord." I've always enjoyed listening to Lucius speak. He holds enough deference in his tone without groveling or whining as most do. It is refreshing in my ranks to have a follower I can respect. There are so very few.

"Did you check him?" I ask coolly. "He's far too intelligent to be a simple feline." An…amused snort from the beast himself seems to agree with me and my eyes narrow.

"Yes, my Lord. He is what he appears to be. There is no trace of the Animagi about him." I inhale to further the question and he continues, saving me the effort of speaking. "Nor of any potion or spell, my Lord."

There is a pause then, my second-in-command is hesitating and that amuses me. Moving to reclaim my now empty throne, I glance to my side only to see the beast seated on the dais next to me, studying me with his intense green eyes. "Speak, Lucius. It is obvious you have more to say." His son—for that is who the second man is—coughs to hide his short burst of laughter at that. It was meant to be amused, so I do not _Crucio_ him.

"I believe, Lord, that he may possess the blood of the Shae in him to some degree."

Interesting… This beast has suddenly gained more value.

"Lucius, if you have truly brought me one of the Shae, you shall be greatly rewarded." I let that information fall over the air. He knows the alternative. I can see it in his face. "There is one way to find out. Send your son home, Lucius." Young Draco appears instantly alarmed, but he covers it well. I approve. The youth rises, bows once more and then sweeps from the room.

"Beast," I address the jungle cat now. He flicks an ear, still watching me. "It is said that your kind can sense a traitor. Is this true?" He seems to consider this a moment and nods, one shoulder risen as well. Such strange body language he uses. It's as if he means to emulate ours, but it is tainted with his own. "Excellent, that is what you shall do. Lucius, your arm."

He stands and opens his sleeve to offer me his Mark. He hides his hiss of pain well. I really will have to let Wormtail here again. It's his one use, really. Can't even let him spy without Nagini watching his every move. How disappointing.

Once the doors are closed and the others are called, Lucius moves to stand at my left, his usual place now taken by the beast he's brought me. It doesn't take them long to appear and this time, even Severus is able to answer. Excellent. Now we'll have that answer once and for all. As each one arrives, they fall to their knees in their appointed place within the circle. It makes it easy to tell who is missing. Once they are all assembled, I glance down to the beast and make a small gesture towards them. He rises and pads down towards the group at a lazy jog. Once within the circle, however, his entire form changes. He's no longer languid and easy-going. He is a predator, hunting. It's a beautiful thing to watch, when precious little is left to me to be beautiful.

Goyle, McNair, Dolohov, Zabini, Lestrange, Hayes, Parkinson, Nott, all of them he passes by with ease. My loyal circle. At Severus he stops and I lean forward to watch closely. He raises one forepaw to push up at the man's chin until he can look him in the eyes. They stare at each other for a long moment before the creature seems satisfied. More than satisfied, apparently. He brushes his muzzle along the man's neck affectionately and Severus just barely cracks a smile. Puzzling, but there's little time to dwell on it. The beast moves on.

He doesn't stop again until he reaches the second-to-last within the circle. Weasley, Percy. This time, he lifts the chin and stares into the man's eyes for only a moment before snarling viciously and pouncing, bowling the man over and pinning him to the floor before turning towards me with a fierce look and stepping off and padding lazily back to sit at my right.

There is my traitor.

With a flick of my wand, he is bound and sent to the dungeons below.

"Dismissed," I hiss to the others and watch with satisfaction as they all scramble to leave, to be away. A snort to my right catches my attention as the last of them Disapparates away. "You disapprove?" I ask him quietly, one brow raised. I receive only his shaking out his hide in response. I turn to Lucius then, only to find him pale-faced.

"My Lord…I had received reports that there was a hole within the Ministry. We had narrowed it down to either Weasley or Hayes but this morning."

I find myself chuckling, one hand reaching to stroke the soft fur on the jungle beast's neck. "So you are a Shae, then; at least in part. How fortunate." I turn back to my only human company then, fingers still rubbing just behind the cat's ears. "What is he called, Lucius?"

"He isn't, my Lord. There was no identification at their Headquarters and we have given him no name ourselves."

"Intriguing… Do you have a name, beast?" He nods once then leans into my fingers. "What is it?" He stills completely and turns to look up at me incredulously and I can nearly hear him ask if I truly am a moron.

I laugh. I cannot help it. Someone who does not fear me, but does not challenge me… It is not something I had ever expected to find. I realize I'm very much enjoying it.

"As if you could tell me. Very well then. You shall be Arikeir, the only lion in my den of serpents." The black feline tilts his head, as if he's considering it, then nods and yawns before standing and padding out towards the doors. "Lucius, you are dismissed. I'll call for you—Merlin's beard…" There isn't much left in this world at all that will surprise me, but watching the doors swing open soundlessly for the mysterious black beast is certainly unexpected. One look at Lucius proves I'm not imagining things. The pureblooded aristocrat is paler even than before. Somehow that makes me feel better. Standing, I turn to follow, glancing back over my shoulder in amusement.

"Close your mouth, Lucius, that's extremely undignified."


	4. III

**A/N: As always, beta'd by the lovely Thecookiemomma. **

It's not such a bad place, this. Yes, there are quite a few twists and turns, but it's more fun that way. It makes the chase more interesting when prey does happen to show up. Six hours after the Lord's little 'test', a jittery, fat man who smells of rat appeared. I hadn't eaten and he smelled as good as any…

The Lord nearly fell away from his desk laughing. I didn't realize my pinning the rat to the floor would be so entertaining for him. Strange beings these C'alu.

"No, Arikeir," he chided gently. "Loathe as I am to admit it, he is still useful to me." Turning to face this Lord I'd acquired, I snorted and curled my lip, the most incredulous look I could affect in this form. He appeared to understand, his smile growing before it faded again. "You may play with him, but no killing." I rumbled a low growl at the rat-man. "Yet."

So now, two days later, I follow the Lord's wishes. Which, to be fair, makes the entire business more fun. The poor vermin never knows if I mean to harm him or simply pounce. The fear he exudes is quite satisfying. The twisting turns and complex passages in his manor make for a challenging and thrilling hunting ground. I'm catching up without any real effort. I've been pursuing him for a little over an hour now and he is exhausted from his fear and flight from me. Rounding one final corner, I'm confident that he is mine now. I tense the muscles in my hind legs and my back, readying my body for the spring that will catch me this prey.

_There!_

Well… That'll teach me to leap before I look. I can just _see_ the smirk on Rusk'ai's lips. Having flung myself into the air, I realize that the fat, sweaty man is cowering behind an enormous cobra, her hood flared out and absolutely stunning in her protective fury. As a matter of fact, only my admiration of her saved me, for instead of trying to abort the leap, I merely sailed over her head, landing gracefully on the other side of the rat—who, it seems, had changed himself into an actual rat during the time I was staring at the beautiful snake.

There are no serpents in my home. There are none left. All traces of their clan were wiped from this world in the last great wizard's battle, which took place long before any living wizard now was even born. The very last of their kind fled to my home and was given sanctuary to live out the rest of her days.

I met her before she died. It was the first time I can remember crying. Her markings, her beautiful skin…the cobra before me could easily be her daughter and watching her as I catch my breath, I feel a pang of sadness reverberate along the walls and passageways of my mind.

**Jaguar,** she begins in a sibilant tone that I find extremely pleasing to listen to. **Why are you so sad?** And in that instant, I know true hope. She can feel me, she can speak to me and she is the spitting image of Hess'ess'eth… Could she be?  
**I knew one once who was very much like you. It is a painful reminder.** I watch her as she absorbs this, as she sways ever so gently back and forth. The longer I watch her, the more I realize that I can feel her too, her confusion and her deep thought as she works through what I said.

**Your accent is horrendously thick, young one, but I suppose it is remarkable you understand me at all…**She pauses then and for a long moment I am treated to the incredible ability of the snake to be absolutely still, watching me, gaining my measure. **I am sorry for your loss, though I'm afraid I cannot apologize for what I am.** This only further stirs hope within me, I can feel my claws extending and kneading the floor below me as adrenaline slowly pumps through my system.

**You should never apologize for what you cannot or will not change.** I repeat the words Aly'thae often chided me with in my early years with her. She seems just as amused as I am by it and I can't hold back any longer. **Are you Chay'en then? Are you one of the Hes'sis'sekt?** I can't hold the hope out of my voice and I think she hears that before she understands the words. There's a sharp inhalation of breath and all of the sudden, she is slithering closer, forked tongue flickering like mad as she tastes the air around me, tastes my scent, my being and my very aura.

**No, I am not Chay'en, young one… But it appears you **_**are**_**.** Somehow, she manages to sound both excited and sad. It is a trick of duality I think will always only belong to the serpents of the world. **How did you come to be here, young Na'aru?**

**I was a…gift to the Lord from Lucius.** She dips her head once in understanding. She knows of the Chay'en and yet is not one of us. Her knowledge of the name of my clan seems somehow to pale in comparison on the shock scale.

**The Lord? You do not claim him as yours?** Instead of insulted or accusatory, she sounds only curious, a fact which I use to violently silence the part of me that wishes to stuff her tail down her throat. Honestly.

**I have no Lord and no Master. I will acknowledge that he is Lord of this place and these people because I can respect him, but beyond that I will offer nothing. He hasn't earned it yet.**

For a long, long while she is silent and still. At first I attribute it to the difficulty she seems to have in understanding me—which is odd, since I can hear her perfectly well—but after a while it becomes obvious it is more than that. I'm starting to become concerned when I realize she is shaking. I don't sense any sort of violent anger from her, but I tense anyway, ready to fight or run.

Never take chances with an unfamiliar cobra.

Then I realize she's _laughing_. I can feel my jaw hanging open in a very C'alu demonstration of my pure shock. She continues to laugh, laugh until she has sunk to coils on the floor, until I turn to the rat for help and realize he isn't here any longer. Not that I blame him. I continue to watch her, hissing her sibilant joy and mirth. Finally, she speaks, her words coming short and broken up by bouts of laughter, but at least understandable.

**He…he hasn't….has—hasn't **_**earned**_** it…earned it yet!**

At least I know what's so _funny_. Now I'd like to know _why_.

**Oh, oh little shadow, I **_**like**_** you! No one's had the guts to admit that in…thirty years at least.** At this admission, I can't help but chuckle as well. It seems my…' guts' have amused quite a few here since I've arrived. Are the C'alu all so spineless as to make any self-respect a rarity? How sad.

**I do believe I like you too. The Lord of this place has seen fit to call me Arikeir. What is your name?** She eyes me shrewdly. Noticing perhaps that I offer her only the name I have been given here.

**He calls me Nagini.** Her voice, when she speaks of him, is fond; affectionate. **We have been friends for a very long time.** Now _that_ is an interesting way to put it.

**Friends?** I inquire. **He does not consider you a…pet then?** She snorts—a very interesting sound to come from a cobra—and shakes her head.

**I am the only one he trusts, Ariheir. The only soul he dares to care for.** She starts to move past me and I turn to pad alongside her down the hallway. She continues, then and I feel a cloak of sadness fall over me like a sodden blanket. Whether it is hers or my own, I'm not sure. **The ones who serve him…they believe in his ideals, they share his goals, some adore him in their own way, but they **_**are**_** C'alu and they are…limited. They hurt even the ones they most love and when most serve only out of fear…** She heaves a serpentine sigh and turns to level a fierce glare on me, seeming to need no attention on the way she slithers. **You were picked up from that Order's Headquarters…** Her hood flares and for an instant I honestly believe she's about to kill me. **If you hurt him, Ariheir, I swear you will dream of death before it comes.**

I freely admit, her ferocity is beautiful to me and such avid devotion… When offered from such a creature, says a lot about the person who has that loyalty; that love. **I promise you, Nagini, on the seven slips of Current, I mean no harm to your Master. I was found in their Headquarters only because that is where I landed while Crossing over. I hit a forceful current and it blew me off course.** She seems to accept this and we continue on our way in silence.

Silence has always bothered me to some degree. In later years, it's gotten a bit worse as I've become accustomed to constant companionship of some sort. Now, there's a pregnancy to it and it makes my skin crawl. I find myself racing to find something, anything to say that will break the silence and end my torment.

**My name is Arikeir, by the way. Not Ariheir.**

Not entirely the brightest thing ever to come out of my mouth, but I suppose I could have said worse. She eyes me with an air of confusion that's nearly palpable.

**That's what I said, Ariheir. Ari-**_**heir**_**.** If I had hands in this form, I would have just smacked my forehead.

**No, not Ari**_**heir**_**. Ari**_**keir**_**.**

**Exactly. As I said; Ariheir.**

**No, no, no. Not 'H', **_**heir**_**. K, like **_**keir**_**.**

**I hate to tell you this, kitten, but you just said the exact same thing. Twice.**

**I did not!**

**Did so.**

**Did not!**

**Did so.**

**Did **_**not**_**!**

**So.**

**Not!**

**So.**

**Not!**

**So.**

_**Not!**_** Oof!**

Well, I suppose that's what I get for not watching where I was going, but really, it's not as if we were moving _fast_. It would have been nothing for this…pair of legs to move out of the way.

Legs.

Oh.

I see.

Sitting back on my haunches, I tilt my head to peer up into the face of the Lord of the Manor, Nagini slithering up his arm to drape herself elegantly about his shoulders; a living cloak.

**Scaring my new pet already, Nagini?** His voice is soft and warm, a far cry from what it had been the first and last time I had met him. For some reason, that shuts up my aggravating inner voice without my even having to try.

**No, Tom. Just getting to know each other a little better…** He chuckles at that, a sound I _am_ growing familiar with.

**Which, for you my dear, means scaring him senseless.** Nagini snorts again, the sound just as odd to hear as the first time.

**You know me too well, Tom. But this time, no. He doesn't scare easily, your Ariheir.** I let loose a low growl and the Lord—Tom, apparently—turns wide eyes on me, though Nagini seems pleased. **Besides, he's much more fun to nettle. Mostly because he bites back and has the brains to banter, which is a nice change…**

**He is also sitting right **_**here**_**.** I hiss under my breath, grumbling to myself and lying down, since they seem in no hurry to go. If I'm to be discussed as if I wasn't here, I'll at least be comfortable while they do it.

There's a moment of silence as the Lord ever so slowly remembers to close his mouth. Fortunately for him, only Nagini and I bore witness to his lack of dignity and neither of us is in a position to tattle. Turning then to his serpentine friend, Lord Tom—oh I _like_ the way that sounds—narrows his eyes. Convulsively, I swallow and when he turns and strides away from me, I know better than to follow.

Where's that rat? I'm starved.

**'Ini dearest, did that cat just use Parsel?**Amid hissing laughter, Nagini rubs her face against my cheek affectionately. I've finally managed to get her to a quiet and away place where we can talk without fear of interruption.

**He did, Tom.** Heaving a sigh, I bend to allow Nagini to slither down my arm and onto the soft rug in front of the fire where she'll be most comfortable. I love this room. Only Nagini and I can enter here, it's the only place I can feel truly safe—even in my own home.

**Why can I not understand what he says then?** This fact is very disconcerting to me. It is horridly unbalancing to suddenly not understand a language you've been able to speak since early childhood. I suppose it's made worse by the fact that I _knew_ he was speaking it, just not what was being said.

I suppose, to myself, I can admit that it sparked a flame of fear in my chest. To lose the ability to understand the serpents would mean losing the only real friend I've ever had.

**Tom, dear. You're not stupid. What is he?** Feeling faintly annoyed at her chiding, I send her my best Voldemort Scowl. She—as I knew she would be—is unaffected by it. It's a sad, sad day when a snake can withstand my glare better than any of my followers. Still, I consider her question. She's done this for as long as I can remember. She never likes to give me a straight answer, only vague hints so that I come up with the solution myself.

**A cat!** I exclaim, face lifting as I feel a triumphant grin tug at my lips. **Of course! Their speech is underdeveloped in that aspect. They cannot use the sibilant sounds, so they utilize the guttural 'h'!** Thrilled by this idea, I don't rein in my rabbit-trails as quickly as I should. I even find myself beginning to become excited about this; something new and fascinating. But as ever, my natural self-preservation kicks in and I suffer a moment of an intense emotion rather similar to panic.**But why does he speak it at all?** It's not panic of course.

Dark Lords do _not_ panic.

**For the same reason that Wormtail understands us when he is a rat, Tom.** I don't even _pretend_ to know where she's going with this.

**Understanding and speaking are two very different things, 'Ini.** The snake lets out a long and exasperated hiss. I swear if she could, her eyes would be rolling at this very moment. Damn cobra.

**What did you **_**just**_** say, Tom? Underdeveloped speech. Vocal chords. Wormtail's aren't shaped for the appropriate sounds. He cannot use the words his anatomy doesn't allow him to shape. I can understand Wormtail when he chitters and twitches, but you cannot, because you have only our tongue.** She pauses and eyes me critically. **The feline 'dialect'—if you will—is close enough to ours that you recognize it, even if you can't understand. Actually…** She turns to the door and hisses her command to open them. I can't believe my eyes.

There, sitting quite patiently outside the doors, is Arikeir; the very topic of our discussion. **Nagini…** I begin dangerously. **Do I **_**want**_** to know how he found us?**

**Nope.** Damn snake. Heaving a sigh, I nod to the beast, who stands and pads into the room. I'm not sure—it happened so fast—but it appeared there for a moment that he shivered as the doors closed behind him. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light. That must be it.

"Come here, beast. I won't hurt you." He snorts at this but steps closer, coming to sprawl on the rug between myself and Nagini, who seems intent upon following through with her last train of thought.

**Say something, kitten.** For a moment I can only stare in blank shock at the cobra sprawled near the panther.

Kitten?

Really?

A hand rises to cover my mouth as I borrow a leaf from young Draco's book and cough lightly to cover up a snicker at such a putrid endearment. It doesn't fool the beast, who even now is glaring at me in a passable imitation of my own furious gaze. I must admit to being impressed.

**Hehh'aath ek rel?** The beast speaks and I still cannot understand the words. But, if I relax and just let the words flow over me without resisting, without over-analyzing, I find that I get a general idea of what was just said.

**Why do I have the feeling I was just insulted?** I wonder aloud, my tone just as dry as Arikeir's had been and the beast starts _snarling_ at me. I'll admit it does startle me. From the being who forced me to lower my gaze and in the same breath conceded me my throne, I had not expected such a blatant challenge. Suppose that's what I get for trusting him, even just that little bit. I realize that I've tensed, hand hovering and ready to strike, but he doesn't move, doesn't even seem tense, his tail flicking lazily to and fro. Slowly it dawns on me that he's not snarling, he's _smiling_ at me, in his own way. I can't help myself; I grin right back, ridiculously happy that there is no reason to kill the beast. Yet.

Nagini seems inordinately pleased with herself.

**Probably because you were, and quite adeptly. Let's hold onto this one, Tom. He's funny.** I raise one incredulous eyebrow in her direction, a sound of dry amusement escaping my lips. It was not a snort, but does convey similar emotions.

Dark Lords do _not_ snort.

**You only say that because no one else has the nerve to insult me,** I return with a knowing smirk. I have never before seen a cobra blink innocently. I hope to never see it again. Any other besides Nagini and I would be lucky to escape with my life. It's so intrinsically _wrong_ to see that expression on a predator as deadly as she and I snap a little, coughing violently in an attempt to cover my laughter. I've always hated my laugh. It sounds so…_undignified_. Arikeir doesn't manage nearly so well, rolling to his back as his sides shake with a rumbling sound that could never be mistaken for anything but laughter.

Throwing my hands up into the air, I heave a put-upon sigh and shake my head, though I fear my eyes may have softened. Oh well, nothing to be done for it now. **Come on you vicious little viper, let's feed the beast before Wormtail gives himself a heart attack.** I shudder and Arikeir stands and stretches in that manner of his that makes the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. I catch my beloved viper watching me out of the corner of my eye. **I very much do **_**not**_** relish the thought of coming across his rotting carcass somewhere unfortunate.**

Nagini seems inordinately pleased.


End file.
